Temperature Inversion
by lwbush
Summary: Responding to a request for B/X fluff. Some people say it won't happen until a cold day in Hell. This happens on a cold day in Ft. Lauderdale. Weird text thing fixed - sorry.


Temperature Inversion  
By Lori Bush  
  
~**~  
  
Feedback: lwbush@charter.net   
  
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, etc. owns Buffy. You know the routine.  
  
Summary: Some people say it won't happen until a cold day in Hell. This happens on a cold day in Fort Lauderdale.  
  
Pairing: B/X romantic fluff - the working title of this piece was "BuffFluff," so don't expect great literature here, folks.  
  
Rated: PG-13  
  
Continuity: Huh? Whazzat? Actually, this is an AU Season Six. It veers sharply off just before "The Gift," since I so miss the feeling people that used to inhabit Sunnydale. So - Anya got scared and ran away before the encounter with Glory. Willow did reverse the BrainSuck for Tara, but went back to being a good little Lesbian Witch Girl afterwards. She and her Significant Other now co-own the Magic Box with Giles, who also isn't going anywhere or doing anything madly out of character here. Glory is gone - Spike tragically lost his unlife to save the Summers girl he *really* cared about - Dawn. Joyce, sadly, remains dead. I can't fix *everything* that's saddened me lately. There will be no bashing since I've conveniently eliminated all reasons for it.  
  
Author's Notes: The weather in this piece is not fictional. It was inspired by my last day on Winter vacation in the Sunshine State, when it was too damned cold to even walk on the beach in the clothes I'd packed, thinking it was going to warm the whole time I was there. I was there for ten days; it was warm and sunny for roughly one and a half of them, so I wore the heck out of my one pair of jeans and one pair of sweatpants, while my shorts languished in a drawer. I've wanted to get the Scoobies to Ft. Lauderdale for a long time (I grew up there) - this idea gave me a chance, even if they all couldn't make the trip.  
  
Dedicated: To Joanne, for asking. And because every time I read more of "The New Adventures of Buffy and Xander," I feel the need to pay her with real money. Since I can't do that (sorry, Jo), there's this.  
  
~**~  
  
"It's cold." Buffy stated this fact while on the hotel balcony, wrapped in a blanket over nothing more than her bikini.  
  
"Uhm, yeah," Xander replied, puzzled. "See the sweatpants and jacket? See me dressing appropriately due to that fact?"  
  
"I wanted to go swimming. I was planning a sunset swim." She grew petulant. "This is Ft. Lauderdale. It's always supposed to be warm here. I wanna swim." The Slayer pouted; prettily, in Xander's opinion.  
  
"And it never rains in Southern California, nor is it supposed to get cold. But I have a heavy coat that I use liberally at home. It can get cold pretty much anywhere in January, Buff."  
  
Buffy sighed. When Giles had mentioned this conference for Owners of Supernatural Small Businesses, to be held in sunny South Florida, it sounded like just the break she and her friends needed. She convinced him to take the whole gang along. But Willow and Tara felt obligated to take care of the Magic Box rather than see it closed for a week, so they demurred. Which was fine - it would still be Giles, Xander, Dawn and Buffy, and while it wasn't the *whole* group, she was sure they'd still have fun. It was the last week of Dawn's Winter Break from school, so they'd have a completely obligation-free vacation. Some of Angel's compatriots - Wesley and a guy named Gunn - were going to stay at Xander's apartment and keep the vamp population down in their absence. It was less than perfect, but it would be okay. Until Dawn got invited to go skiing in Colorado with Cindy's family for Winter Break, and had begged and pleaded until her sister had given in. Now it was just Buffy, Giles (who was gone all day every day at the conference), and Xander. And while she loved Xander dearly, having him and just him with her made them look like a couple, which wasn't the way she wanted to spend her vacation on the hot, sunny beaches - beaches populated by handsome half-dressed men who didn't know her yet. She'd decided before they got on the plane that she wanted a vacation romance.   
  
True, there hadn't been much in the way of sunny beaches since their arrival. It had rained for the first three days, and been windy and overcast since. Today had been the first sunny day, and they'd had a great time on the Jungle Queen glass-bottomed boat cruise Xander had arranged for them. But still it was windy, and she'd kept on her jacket most of the time. Near the end of the cruise it had warmed up considerably, and she'd had high hopes for a sunset swim. But the temperature had dropped again rapidly as the afternoon faded. Now she found herself in her bathing suit wrapped in a blanket, mourning her lost opportunities. No break for the whole gang. No sunset swim. No vacation romance. Still, when life hands you lemons...  
  
"Xander," she complained more pointedly, "I'm cold." So what if she'd known him since they were sixteen and never thought of him *that* way - he was male, and available and very much here. A little harmless flirting would at least keep the muscles in shape. Maybe there'd be somebody worth her efforts in Orlando, and she'd hate to be out of practice.   
  
She and Xander had talked Giles into taking them to Disney World in spite of the fact that Sunnydale was only a short drive from Disneyland by selling him on the cultural and educational benefits of Epcot Center. They hadn't told him they planned to spend the first day in the Magic Kingdom. In fact, they hadn't actually mentioned that they planned for a second day. Willow had made all the reservations for them, and what Giles didn't know wouldn't hurt him.  
  
Much to Buffy's surprise, her flirtatious come-on got no like response from her friend. "Well, Buff, if you had on real clothes, you wouldn't be cold."  
  
He was resisting her charms, so she redoubled her efforts. Maybe she really was out of form with her flirting. "You're telling me you wouldn't like seeing me in the water in just my bikini?" she asked him in her most sultry voice.  
  
*Okay, Buffy *is* flirting with me, and it is unnaturally cold in South Florida. Has hell frozen over?* He hadn't been totally sure the first time, but now he knew, and secure in that knowledge, thought it might be fun to frustrate her. Not like she hadn't been frustrating him for years. "Nope. I've seen you in your suit before. What's really disappointed me this week has been my inability to wow the Florida girls with my own swimsuited bod."  
  
*The ego has landed,* the Slayer thought dismissively. But, she quickly wondered, just how far would she be willing to push this? Buffy hated to lose. She decided, and the blanket fell to the ground. "C'mon, Xan, are you trying to tell me I don't look good in a bathing suit anymore?" She stood there defiantly for a few seconds before shivering violently and hugging herself. "Oh, God, now it really *is* cold."  
  
Instinctively, Xander moved forward and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her close to his chest. *Hmm,* Buffy thought, *nice chest.* "Buffy, you look fabulous in a bathing suit. But I don't want to see you freeze to death, either." The tender concern in his voice touched something within her, and she realized how much this one man had done for her over the years, and how much he really cared.  
  
She snaked her arm around his waist, slipping them up under his sweat jacket for warmth. "I'm not cold anymore," she murmured contentedly into his chest. "This is nice."  
  
Somehow, this had moved from harmless flirting into something else, and Buffy wasn't completely sure how it had happened so quickly. All she knew was that she was safe and warm in a set of strong arms snuggled against a well-muscled chest, and she wasn't sure she ever wanted to be anywhere else. Not ever again. She snuggled in more closely, in a way more than "just friends" sort of way.  
  
"Just a minute," Xander said, pushing her away from him. Her emotions ran a quick marathon through hurt and angry at his rejection, to confused and a little pissed off when he unzipped his jacket, *Hey, it was just a hug - no need to get undressed, buddy!*, finally settling on embarrassed and sentimental when he removed said jacket and slid it onto her shoulders, pulling her back in the same move into the shelter of his now bare arms. "There," he said, "now you'll be warmer."  
  
"Now you're going to freeze!" the Slayer protested, "You're only wearing a t-shirt!"  
  
"Un-uh," he responded, slipping his own arms around her waist now, "It gives me an excuse to do this to keep warm."  
  
And it was true - the touch of his bare arms against her equally uncovered waist was generating a great deal more heat than seemed normal. But nothing about this situation was normal. Still it felt so *right*. His right arm left her waist and he placed his hand on her face, stroking her cheekbone gently with the pad of his thumb. She rested her head in his palm. *So right...*  
  
"Hmm," she hummed contentedly, "I was hoping for a vacation romance. Wanna play?" She looked hopefully into his eyes, almost melting in the heat they generated.  
  
His warm expression never fell, and his thumb kept up the tender caress. "No," he said, with little emotion. Before she could sputter, he went on with more feeling. "I fell in love with you when I was sixteen. I was so in love with you it hurt. But time went by and other people came along, and I fell out of love." He saw her trying to hide her disappointed frown. "Don't worry," he reassured her, "I didn't fall far. But that's the problem. If anything happened between us, I know I'd be right back where I started. So I won't play, Buffy. If anything happens, it's got to be serious. Dead serious."  
  
"Well, the word 'dead' in my love life has multiple connotations, most of them negative..." she mused, and heard a soft puff of air escape him. It wasn't loud enough to be a snort, and it could have indicated laughter or disgust, she wasn't sure. She simply pressed on, her tone contemplative. "But I could do serious... I think I'm very ready for serious." Her eyes had dropped to focus on his t-shirt as she spoke, and when his thumb suddenly ceased its gentle ellipses, she looked up again quickly. She saw his face getting closer to hers, and as she felt his hand now cup the back of her head and his breath on her lips, she knew with certainty that, with this choice, she could guarantee she'd never feel cold again.  
  
A few endless minutes later, she had to breathe, before the heat consumed her. "Let's move this inside," she said, pulling him gently by the hand through the sliding glass door into her bedroom. "It's too hot to stay out here."  
  
~**~  
  
Giles felt somewhat guilty. He'd been having far too good a time at tonight's closing dinner and celebration. And well beyond, if truth were told. The conference had been refreshing and educational, and the dinner had been a great wrap-up to a fulfilling week. But he'd left Buffy and Xander to their own devices long enough, and he more than owed them some time now it was over. Instead he'd spent the whole evening, and now parts of the early morning, indulging himself. Of course, he could blame Mlle. Le Clarre for his late hours, but that would be unfair. He'd made the choice to stay out with her himself. Still, she had been quite intoxicating...  
  
Her chestnut eyes and ebony curls held something from his past; something that reminded the Watcher of a gypsy computer teacher that had once captured his heart. Her name, Celia Le Clarre, danced off her tongue when she said it with that charming French accent of hers. She was a consultant, part of a team that advised supernatural business start-ups on anything from location to advertising to protection spells. The lovely Creole practiced voodoo and read auras, with an MBA in accounting as well. Add to that the fact that she'd found a niche and started her consulting business in the face of nearly overwhelming discouragement (after all, how many banks would give a loan to such an enterprise?), and Rupert Giles was certain he'd found the only woman on earth that was more capable than his own Slayer. That this near-Renaissance woman gave all the signs that she was also interested in him was too much for the Englishman to believe. But he'd spent enough time with her that evening to ascertain it was true.  
  
When a younger group of the conference attendees segued from the meeting room to the hotel bar after the dinner was over, Celia had convinced Rupert to go along. So he'd danced, drank and flirted wildly, and he, for a while, had felt as young as his usual compatriots. Until he guiltily recalled those compatriots, and made his excuses. Celia had seemed to understand, and had pressed her card, with her personal numbers scribbled on the back, and a kiss, on him before he departed. A kiss that reminded him how long it had been since he'd been kissed like that. Only the lateness of the hour kept him moving out the door.  
  
Odds were against him, after all. The Slayer and her friend had gone the whole week without getting into trouble, or trouble getting to them, as it might be. But that couldn't last. The group of young people with whom he associated attracted trouble like moths to the flame, and they were past due for someone to get burned. As the normally designated fireman, Giles felt his presence would probably be required.  
  
When he entered the room he was sharing with Xander to find the young man missing, his stomach sank in distress - he had so hoped he would be wrong about the likelihood of incipient disaster. He knew Xander was unlikely to be out on the town - both of his young companions had laughingly agreed that they would have no late night partying on this trip. Since their usual late night parties consisted of graveyard patrols and violent encounters, they felt that getting a good night's sleep every night would be part of the "vacation" part of this vacation experience. So the only reason for Xander's absence would have to be trouble.  
  
Giles banged on the door connecting his room to Buffy's, hoping the Slayer wasn't also involved in whatever had detained their friend. If she was, he was uncertain of where to begin looking for clues to find them both. When he heard the deadbolt begin to turn, he studied his feet, both weak with relief that at least she was there, and with concern about how to tell her Xander was missing. He didn't look up, afraid to see the disappointment in her eyes when he reported the bad news. "Buffy, Xander is..."  
  
He didn't remember Buffy's feet being quite so - large. Or her legs so hairy. His eyes traveled quickly up the obviously male body in front of him, noting a pair of boxer shorts, on backward, and pausing only for a moment at the pectoral muscle where Buffy's head should have been, finally reaching the sleepy face. "...in your room half naked at three in the morning. Oh, my..."  
  
The young man grinned lazily. "Sorry, we got a bit distracted. Forgot to leave you a note." The Slayer had joined them at the connecting door, wearing a sheet wrapped around her, and apparently nothing else.  
  
"Oh, my..." Giles reiterated.  
  
"I was going to ask you in the morning, but since you're here, do you mind if we switch roommates?" Buffy asked a bit groggily.  
  
"You don't have a roommate." Giles knew that was a stupid answer, but his brain and mouth weren't quite in sync yet.  
  
"Now *you* don't," Buffy said with a smirk, sounding more awake. She tugged at the other man's hand. "C'mon, Xander, come back to bed." The object of her request grinned even wider, and shrugged at Giles, pushing the door almost closed. The Watcher heard, just before he tugged the door the rest of the way shut, "I'm cold again, Xander. Warm me up the way you did before?" He threw the lock almost desperately. He didn't want to hear any more - he could have lived without hearing *that.*  
  
Still, once the shock wore off and he was able to stop staring at the connecting door in mute disbelief, he had to wonder why he'd been surprised. The two of them had had some kind of chemistry since the very first day they met. So much so, even his foggy, stuffy British sensibilities (he'd been such a *prig* in those days, he thought regretfully) had picked up on it. But they'd gone their separate ways; each one having other loves, although none of them ever lasted. When everything else ended, the two of them had gone on together. Willow had become a satellite to the team, after almost losing Tara to Glory, yet the two of them never backed down, never quit. They were always there for each other. And now, this past week, they'd been cooped up by bad weather and his own absence in close quarters together...  
  
Looking back, the only surprise was that it had taken so *long*.  
  
Her began patting his pockets. Surely Mlle. Le Clarre hadn't retired for the night *yet*.  
  
~**~ 


End file.
